


And Here We Are Again

by E_J_Morgan



Series: Q-niverse AU [27]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Q is a Holmes, Teenage!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_J_Morgan/pseuds/E_J_Morgan
Summary: Q-niverse AU - Sometimes, things you thought were over, may unexpectedly start again. Like a relationship.





	

Q couldn’t believe his eyes when one day out of blue his cell phone signaled the arrival of a message on one of his fake e-mail addresses. It wouldn’t have been such a surprise of course (he owned at least four-five different ones at all times), had it not been the one he had only used with Annabel, with whom he hadn’t been in contact since she had broken up with him over a new boyfriend… Well, except for a short greeting for Christmas. But it didn’t count, right?

 

He had a funny feeling – curiosity mixed with dread – when he opened the e-mail to see if it was true or only his imagination was playing a cruel game with him. He immediately found it was indeed from Annabel. He began to read:

_To: Daniel Coulter_

_From: Annabel Worthington_

_Hi, Danny, I just… well… I was wondering… How are you? Do you hate me?_

Hate??? He wouldn’t be able to hate Annabel even if she had been the one to explode his flat!

_To: Annabel Worthington_

_From: Daniel Coulter_

_Hi, Annabel. Of course I don’t hate you. Why should I? And I’m fine, thanks. Lots of work… Like always. And you?_

Her reply came soon after.

_To: Daniel Coulter_

_From: Annabel Worthington_

_Oh, thank you for answering! I was honestly not sure you would… I mean, you answered to my Christmas greetings but only to wish the same… Well. And I’m glad you’re all right. I’m fine as well. I was just thinking about going to visit Oxford soon. You know I have to apply for university soon this year and I’d like to see my options first. My mom and dad won’t be able to take me though, because they won’t get a vacation for that… But they have agreed to let me skip school for a few days in order to go there. Well… I’ll go alone then. It’s not a big deal. I mean, next year I might live there, don’t I? It’s time I become I bit more independent. Right? Well. That means I’ll probably be in London for a short while soon. If you’d like to meet… Well… I’d like to, obviously, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to… Or if you’re too busy. I’d understand…_

_To: Annabel Worthington_

_From: Daniel Coulter_

_Of course I’d like to meet you when you’ll be here, don’t be silly. I’m not angry at you for anything. But Oxford is not exactly near London, you do know that, right? How do you want to travel there and where would you stay while you’re here?_

_To: Daniel Coulter_

_From: Annabel Worthington_

_To tell you the truth, I haven’t thought this far ahead yet… I believe there are options to reach Oxford from London with public transportation, aren’t there? And I think I’d have to get a hotel room or something. I’ll start organizing it soon. I’m sure my family will help._

_To: Annabel Worthington_

_From: Daniel Coulter_

_Yes, of course, there are trains from Paddington and Marylebone and busses as well. But it takes a while. 1-1,5 hours in average. And you could come to stay in my apartment. Don’t think of anything bad! I’d be out more than not; you’d mostly have the whole place to yourself. And I have a guest bedroom with an en suite bathroom so I wouldn’t bother you at all. It’s safer and more convenient than a hotel. Not to mention cheaper: it wouldn’t cost you anything at all._

Q held his breath, trying to decide whether he should send the message or not. Was it too much? Would she think he was trying to flirt with her again? But it was too late now, his hand – as if moving on its own accord – pressed the ‘send’ button and then it was already done. Too late to take it back now.

 

 

_To: Daniel Coulter_

_From: Annabel Worthington_

_Really? You mean it? I could stay at your family’s apartment? What would your mom and sister say?_

Oh, yes, he still hadn’t told her the truth about his family…

_To: Annabel Worthington_

_From: Daniel Coulter_

_Actually… It’s just me and my two cats here. I live alone. It’s a long story. Nobody will get in your way here and nobody will mind. My kittens love company. So… when would you like to come?_

And so they started planning her travel and stay in London.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Annabel arrived on a Sunday evening by train. Q had finished work a bit early that day (meaning he had only spent around 14 hours in HQ, causing R to nearly die of a heart-attack, thinking he must be very sick to leave this soon) to be able to pick her up at King’s Cross so that she wouldn’t have to carry her luggage through a huge city she didn’t know very well. She had said once that her family didn’t frequent the capital even though they lived nearby. Her parents didn’t like crowds, she had explained.

 

As soon as he found her on the crowded station near the platform where her train had just arrived, she ran to him with a huge smile and flung her arms around his neck, all the while thanking him enthusiastically for doing this for her.

 

“There’s really no need, I’m glad to have you here…” – He assured her blushing in embarrassment, not used to such theatrical displays of emotion, then covered it up with grabbing her enormous bag as he started for the stolen (khm… borrowed) car he had parked just outside. Using Government cars had its advantages; for example, he somehow always found free parking spaces just at the ‘door’ wherever he was going.

 

“Wow, is that your car? I never even knew you could drive!” – Exclaimed Annabel excitedly, clearly thinking that being able to drive could be considered the ‘coolest’ thing ever.

 

“I love cars and driving… Don’t worry, I usually don’t kill anyone when I’m behind the wheel.” – He joked. – “People have learnt to run for their lives when they see me approaching.”

 

They got into the car and drove to his apartment. Just as he had promised: nobody died.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

As soon as he had opened the door, two furballs attacked them.

 

“Annabel, let me introduce you to Pixel and Confetti.” – He began, pointing towards the respective kittens, both of whom purred loudly in contentment. – “Guys, this is Annabel.”

 

“Oh, they’re so _cute_!” – The girl squeaked and patted the two cats lovingly. The small balls of energy seemed to enjoy the attention very much.

 

“I think they have taken an instant liking to you. The traitors will most probably spend all their time with you now. Just don’t spoil them, please, I can’t usually spend the whole day jumping to their every wish!”

 

When they managed to calm the small menaces down a bit and get them to let the two humans fully step through the door, Q decided to give Annabel a tour around the apartment.

 

First, he took her to the guest bedroom so they could deposit her things there.

 

“This will be your room with the adjoining bathroom to the right. There are towels and toiletries. There’s also a television and a home entertainment system for you to use. I’ll just leave your luggage here for now.”

 

“Wow, is this really going to be my room? It looks like it belongs to a five-star hotel! You have a beautiful home! I can’t believe someone our age could have an own apartment and live totally alone! It’s incredible!”

 

“Well…” – Q didn’t know what to say to that; Annabel should know by now he wasn’t an average seventeen-year-old. – “Feel free to use any kitchen appliances you may find… there’s not much though… Actually, I think there’s nothing… ahm…” – In reality, the kitchen was still absolutely bare, the teenager having had no interest in buying things he would never use. But at least he had some plates and utensils thanks to his friends’ cooperation… At least he thought he should have them somewhere. Anthea had also brought him a whole set of elegant cutlery just recently. Surely, that ought to count for something, right? He was not totally a caveman after all. And Moneypenny had mentioned something about glasses instead of plastic cups in one of the kitchen cabinets… He just didn’t have an idea where.

 

He must have looked around the place with a very lost expression, because Annabel chuckled.

 

“You don’t spend much time at home, do you?” – Observed the amused girl. She didn’t seem to mind the lack of cooking devices at least.

 

“No, not really… Well, you can order in anything you want. There are some good places that deliver here.” – He showed her the menus Tanner and the agents usually used when they spent the night and wanted to eat something. They already knew better than to expect the boy to play the host and provide for them anything more than maybe some ice cubes in the fridge. And Earl Grey. – “Just give them the name ‘Coulter’ and tell them to write it to my bill. Don’t bother paying; I always take care of it once a month.”

 

“Thank you! So, you actually use the name Danny Coulter here? I thought it was only an alias.”

 

“It is, but it’s as good as any other name, isn’t it? And I’m kind of used to it by now. Well, here’s a set of keys for you. Would you mind holding it in your palm for a moment please? Thanks.”

 

She extended her hand and Q placed the ring of keys onto her palm. They looked funny, nothing like any other keys she had ever seen. They looked more like those chip cards hotels used but were slimmer and yet somehow more solid.

 

After a few seconds, Q took the keys back from her and placed them onto the small table in the vestibule.

 

“What was that for?”

 

“It’s coded to your palm print now. Should you lose them, no one would be able to come in with them, even if they had the address.” – He proceeded to explaining the right way and order to insert them into the various locks that adorned the door. Funnily, she hadn’t even realized there were so many when they came in.

 

“Oh, my God, that sounds like something in a sci-fi movie! Is that actually real?”

 

“I don’t know much about sci-fi but it works, believe me. Now think of a six-digit code to use for the alarm system, please.” – There was a certain risk of giving her full access but what else could he do? He certainly couldn’t just tell her to wait in front of the door every time he wasn’t at home and she wanted to go out or come back in.

 

“The alarm system?”

 

“Yes, you’ll have to deactivate it every time you return. Don’t worry about activating it upon leaving though; it happens automatically. So, can you give me six numbers you’ll be able to remember?”

 

“Ahm… 9-9-0-2-1-9.”

 

“Your birthday? Good idea.” – He programmed it into the system. – “Ready. Now try it.”

 

She did.

 

“It works. But if it activates automatically when someone leaves, what will I do when I wake up in the morning, you’re already gone to work and the alarm system is on? I won’t be able to move from the bed without setting it off!”

 

Q had to suppress his laughter. As if he would devise something as faulty as that!

 

“No, it doesn’t work that way. It only activates when the apartment is completely empty, save the kittens. It knows them and doesn’t react to them.”

 

“But how does it _know_?”

 

“It just does. So, that’s how you’ll have to do it when you return alone: use the keys in the right order then your code. And if anyone should enter while you’re here and I’m not, don’t panic: only those whom I’ve given permission to can come and go, so it can only be a friend of mine. Sometimes they just pop in if they need something; they know I don’t mind. I told them to keep it down for now but… well, you can never know with them.”

 

“I’ll try not to attack anyone.” – She giggled, imagining herself hitting a friend of Danny’s on the head with a pan. Except that there was most probably no pan in the household. And that his friends were surely some dangerous secret spies or similarly crazy folks.

 

“You can use the landline for any calls you’d like to make. If you want your family to call you back, you have to know they won’t see the number because it can’t be displayed on any device. It’s protected. I’ll give you a number they can use to reach you here. It’s just a virtual number but uses the landline so it’s going to be like talking on the phone for real. You won’t even notice the difference but nobody will be able to listen in and the number will only work for as long as I allow it to. It would be too risky to keep it permanently, but I think a week won’t be a problem.”

 

“I haven’t understood half of what you just said so I don’t even really know what to say to that…”

 

Q ignored her confusion and went on with the explanation.

 

“Same with the Wi-Fi. You’re free to use it of course: it’s very fast and unlimited. I’ll give you the code for it; naturally, it automatically changes every day---”

 

“Naturally.”

 

“--- It’s protected and I’ll need to show you how you can send e-mails. It’s not so simple because it gets coded first. The recipient doesn’t notice it when it’s already opened but it must be done on this end for security reasons. Nothing leaves my house unprotected. If you want to use a free online e-mail service, let me know, it requires extra measures. Normally they’re blocked.”

 

“Why am I not surprised... Are you a special agent or something like that?”

 

“Something like that… Here’s an Oyster Card for you; it’s got plenty of credit on it. And a map of London’s main attractions and a separate metro map. You said you don’t really know the city that well.”

 

“No, not really, I’ve only been here a handful of times and only with my parents when I was little, never alone and not recently.”

 

“Well, you can use this card in all the zones and on the entire public transportation system but I’d recommend you to stay in the center in the first few days, to get to know the environment better. Stay alert: there are thieves in the subways but it’s not as bad as some people would like to make it out to be. Just hold your bag tightly in the crowd and don’t put any valuables into your pockets and you should be all right.”

 

“Thanks. I’m so excited to explore the city!”

 

“You don’t have to worry about traveling to Oxford, I’ll be free on Wednesday; I’ll drive you to the university then. Or if something should come up that makes me unable to leave London, I’ll have someone take you. Oh, there’s something important: I want you to always remember, if I send someone to talk to you for any reason at all or ask anyone to call you, I’ll give them a password. You can think of something for it to be. If someone claims to be a friend but they’re not able to tell you the agreed code word: don’t trust them.”

 

“You think someone will try to kidnap me?” – She seemed frightened and Q wanted to kick himself. He should have introduced the concept a little bit more gently. He was like Sherlock in that respect: never knew when to be sensible about things others might find disturbing. So, he hurriedly reassured her:

 

“No! No, don’t worry. I’m just trying to think of everything. It’s a bad habit that comes with my job… I’ve got a bit of paranoia…”

 

“Hihi, it’s all right. The password should be ‘maze’” – She said teasingly.

 

Q groaned.

 

“Oh, dear God… Okay, it’s ‘maze’ then. I hope I won’t have to use it. It would be quite difficult to explain.”  

 

“It’s a good memory though, isn’t it?”

 

“Absolutely.” – And it was really. But the silence that followed was somewhat uncomfortable, so Q said: - “I’ll just leave you to unpack. Feel absolutely at home and don’t worry about waking me or anything like that: you may come and go as you wish. You can also control the heating in your room to your comfort.”

 

“Thank you, Danny. I’m very grateful. I don’t know how else I could have arranged this university visit now that my parents don’t have time to come with me on workdays. And to be able to spend a week in this beautiful city is an added bonus! So, thank you very much!”

 

“You’re welcome, Annabel, really. Oh, and if you want to go to theater or something that ends late, tell me previously and I’ll arrange for someone to drive you home afterwards. I don’t really fancy you walking home alone that late.”

 

“It’s not safe?” – She guessed.

 

“It’s not that… I’m just being too careful, that’s all. You know: paranoia.” – He assured her. – “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. So, I’ll just let you get settled now.”

 

He left her and went back to his own room, shutting the door firmly behind himself, checking it twice, before leaning against it in exasperation. Annabel was now even more beautiful than before, if that was even possible. How was he going to survive the week, living under the same roof as her? So near and yet so far away… She had a new boyfriend now!

 

“Well, shit!” – He muttered to himself.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Next day Q had left quite early for work (maybe just a tiny bit earlier than absolutely necessary… but he’d had a lot to do… honestly…) when Annabel had been still asleep, so they only met in the evening.

 

“Oh, hi! I ordered a pizza!” – Greeted him the girl as soon as he entered the apartment. – “Would you like some as well? It has pepperoni and bacon on it. And ketchup.”

 

“No, thanks. I’ll just have tea.” – He sat down at the table with her once the water had boiled. He tried not to think about the fact how very _domestic_ this scene must have looked for an outside observer. – “So, how was your day?”

 

“It was incredible! I went to the Buckingham Palace and saw the Changing of guards! Then I visited the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge. Then the London Bridge and the London Bridge Experience… It was all super! Tomorrow I’m planning on going to the Westminster Abbey, to see the Parliament and the Big Ben, and then to the Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. It’s all so amazing!”

 

“I’m glad you like it. There are as many places to visit here as in Paris in my opinion. Funny how people who actually live nearby usually seem to forget it – myself included.”

 

“Yes, we always want to travel to very far and exotic places even though we haven’t even seen our own environment. Have you ever been to Madame Tussauds or taken a Thames river cruise?”

 

“No and no. You should do it all now, though I’m not sure the weather is right for river cruises... Go to the Aquarium instead; it’s supposed to be very interesting. And don’t forget the London Eye.”

 

“That’s a good idea! I’d like to watch a musical on West End too.”

 

“Choose one; I’m going to arrange it for you.”

 

“Fabulous! I’ll just look them up in the internet then later. You’re the best.” – She looked absolutely glowing with happiness.

 

“It’s nothing, really.”

 

“It is _everything_ for me. So, and what did you do today? I mean, if it’s not top secret…” – She inquired.

 

“I prevented a national catastrophe.” – And he had. He had repaired the vending machine in Accounting in record time because they had threatened to go on strike if it wouldn’t be fixed right away. It was usually not his job to do these things but the professional firm could only squeeze them into their schedule for next week so it was a life or death situation. Not that MI6 would fall without the bookkeepers directly but if they stopped working, nobody would get their salaries that month and then the double-Os would destroy the country for sure. So he was something like a national hero now; according to Moneypenny at least.

 

“You’re so funny!” – Giggled Annabel, apparently not believing for a minute he could really save the nation. – “Tom is different, you know…”

 

“Tom?”

 

“Thomas. My boyfriend…” – She seemed embarrassed.

 

Of course he was. Even his name was perfectly ordinary, just like probably everything else about him. Naturally he wouldn’t be called ‘Benedict’ or ‘Q’ or something Q-Branch came up with as a cover.

 

“Oh. You don’t have to tell me about him, it’s fine.” – He really didn’t want to listen to stories about the boy who had taken Annabel away from him. It was one thing to understand her reasons behind the decision but having to hear them being listed was just way too much.

 

“But I would like to.”

 

“Ah, okay…” – Why? Why did she have to torture him? Wasn’t it enough that she spent the week in his apartment; that he arranged for her everything she wanted and would even take her to Oxford to look at the university which had been her original purpose? What else did she want, honestly?

 

“He’s so very _normal_. Just an average school boy who likes doing sports, going to the movies, play computer games… Like most boys in my school.”

 

“Marvelous…”

 

“He doesn’t study much and isn’t very motivated to go to university. He just wants to play baseball.”

 

“Well… there are types like that I guess. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

 

“No, nothing. And he’s a gentleman. He carries my bag…”

 

Q had carried her bag just yesterday!

 

“… opens the door for me…“

 

He had done that!

 

“…lets me go first into the house…“

 

 _He_ himself had done it as well! _After_ he had made sure the apartment wouldn’t attack her as a potential thief…

 

“… and has never thought about being worried about me if I had to go home late or making plans for me to amuse myself, or suggesting places to go to…”

 

Q had… Oh, well, Q _had_. Was that a bad thing? Maybe it was something that could be in some way considered offending? He’d have to talk with Bill about it because he was really confused now. Bill usually had good insight when it came to human behavior. Well, better than him or any of his brothers anyway. Not that it said a lot.

 

“He’s not you.” – She concluded, taking the last slice of the pizza.

 

“We’re all different.” – How he wanted to be done with that conversation… Besides, he really needed to check up on Sherlock… He should just---

 

“You’re so much more interesting and kind-hearted and _you_ are the real gentleman… you’re _you_.”

 

“Oh…” – What was there to say to that?

 

“We’re not together anymore.”

 

“No, we’re not.” – He agreed. That was the sad truth. So very true that Sherlock would have rolled his eyes and muttered ‘Obvious. Boring.’

 

“No, I mean: Tom and me. I broke up with him three weeks ago.”

 

The teenager tried hard not to show his surprise. Had she really broken up with her perfectly average boyfriend? But why? Wasn’t that Tom the epitome of the absolutely normal partner she had wanted?

 

“I’m sorry.” – He got out it with great difficulty, just because he thought this might be expected of him.

 

“You don’t have to be.”

 

Thank God.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Q noticed his tea had gone cold so he got up to make himself another one. He made one for Annabel as well because she had finished her pizza by now and was surely thirsty.

 

“You still remember how I take my tea?” – She looked surprised. – “Tom was never able to learn it…”

 

“Well… I don’t really forget...” – He didn’t. His mind was just wired this way. Everyone would call it unnatural. Frightening even. A _freak_.

 

“That’s amazing!”

 

Or amazing… Amazing!?

 

She looked down at her mug.

 

“I’m sorry I broke up with you in an e-mail. I shouldn’t have. Breaking up with you has been the biggest mistake of my life. And then doing it in e-mail… It’s unacceptable. I would have understood it if you had never wanted to talk to me again.”

 

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine: there was no other way of communication for us because of _me_. Now you can see the way I live, you see how everything has to be absolutely top-secret and safe. And I was working even more back then in the office than now. Now I work a lot here at home… I’m not the best romantic partner, I know that very well. I’m too busy, too weird, too mysterious… even dangerous at times.”

 

“Dangerous?”

 

“Well, not _I_ am dangerous of course but _being me_ can be dangerous… Look, you have to know something, though I didn’t want to tell you originally. And I want to begin with stating entirely honestly that you’re totally safe here now. But well…” – He took a deep breath and seeing her curious expression, continued. – “There’s a reason my apartment is so empty and bare. That’s because I only recently moved in.”

 

“Oh, it’s a new place? Did you just now move away from your family?”

 

“No, it’s more complicated than that. I had an own flat for years. It’s just that it got… well, it burned down.”

 

Her eyes widened in terror.

 

“Oh, my God! Like in the movies? How did it happen?”

 

“With a bit of help…”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“I can’t go into details, obviously, but in my line of work – about which I can’t tell you much, sorry – we have enemies. These enemies sometimes go to extremes to get revenge for things you’ve done or they think you’ve done or they think you’ll do or… Well, I’m sure you get the picture.”

 

“You mean to tell me someone _burnt down_ your previous flat?” – She looked horrified like she couldn’t imagine it happening in the real life. It was something that belonged into action films.

 

“Kinda… Anyway. As I said: you’re perfectly safe here. Honest. Nothing like that can happen again; you can see my safety procedures. I’ve improved them since moving here. That’s not the point. Point is: I am not someone you, or anyone else for that matter, would want to be with.” – He told himself it was just fair to tell her the truth, even if it hurt him.

 

She regarded him silently for a moment than spoke:

 

“What if I don’t care? What if I want you anyway?”

 

“Then you might be just a tad bit crazy.”

 

“I think I am!” – She said laughing and unexpectedly leaned over the table to kiss him.

 

Q was totally stunned at first. What was happening? She had broken up with him and he had understood and that had been it, hadn’t it? They weren’t a couple and they really-really shouldn’t be doing this, whatever _this_ was!

 

They shouldn’t be but they _were_ and he was too weak to say no to a beautiful girl like that kissing him. And the embarrassing truth was: he didn’t _want_ to say no at all.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Hours later when the girl was already fast asleep he sneaked out of Annabel’s room (well, didn’t exactly _sneak_ … it was his own home, damn it, he was totally allowed to come and go as he liked!) and cursed under his breath when he nearly fell over her slippers in the absolute darkness. All right, he admitted begrudgingly to himself, he might have been doing something that was somewhat resembling to sneaking after all…

 

Even his kittens seemed to throw him nearly-accusing glares when he exited the room.

 

“What? Am I not allowed to have a private life at all?” – The two cats probably thought he wasn’t because they protested loudly. – “Oh, stay silent, you two, you’ll wake her!”

 

Anyway, he finally made it to the hidden computer room (followed by his two, still hissing, companions) and logged in to get in contact with Sherlock who in the moment appeared to be---

 

Sleeping? Sherlock was really sleeping? Well, that was certainly new. Didn’t they have a mission to prepare? His brother had wanted to infiltrate one of the bases of Moriarty’s web tomorrow. They had agreed to go over the details this evening. And now it was--- shit.

 

It was 2 AM. Sherlock was going to be livid! How did _that_ happen? He resigned himself to wait for his brother to wake so that they would be able to talk first thing in the morning.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

To say that Sherlock had not been impressed with him would be an understatement. In the end, Q had had to promise him to personally check up on Lestrade, Miss Hooper and Mrs. Hudson then report back to him right away to make up for his mistake. But it was a small price to pay for it, since he knew it had been an unacceptable falter on his part.

 

Q had left for work again before Annabel woke so he could only hope she wouldn’t have regrets now that the daylight had come and everything seemed so much clearer. He knew he himself had some regrets. Well, not _regrets_ per se, actually, more like a feeling of guilt: he knew very well that what he had said was absolutely true. He wasn’t meant to have a relationship and being with him could be dangerous. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone Annabel.

 

This week just had to end and then everything would get back to normal.

 

During the day, he didn’t have much time to worry about anything else than his work and Sherlock. His brother did what they had – after ten minutes of lecture on the other’s part – planned in the early hours of the morning, and managed to kill four members of Spectre just by planting a bomb, putting his knowledge of Chemistry to good use. He didn’t get injured and by the end of the day, he was in such a good mood he didn’t mention Q’s little ‘forgetfulness’ anymore.

 

They agreed Q would send him the instructions for his next destination in a few days’ time, until then Sherlock should rest a bit as well. It would be too risky to do anything rush while he was exhausted. So, the boy looked for an adequate place for Sherlock to stay and made a few bookings on the previously arranged alias. Everything was fine on that front.

 

He also sent a coded report about it to Mycroft so that the oldest brother could be up to date with news. Meanwhile he had helped 008 through a mission in Uruguay, tested three new gadgets and assisted 002 on the shooting range with his newest gun. All in all, it had been a very productive, successful day.

 

On the way home, he made a mental note to check up on Sherlock’s friends the next day during Annabel’s visit to Oxford. She would most probably want to spend the entire day there anyway, so he would take her there in the morning and meet her in the late afternoon again.

 

Q himself didn’t have any interest visiting the university, as he had three degrees (well, Benedict Holmes had at any rate…) from there already and wasn’t planning on getting more. Not that he had been there a lot, mind you, but still. He’d had a lot of free time living in Holmes Manor as a pre-teen and had spent that studying on different unis via correspondence. Distance education was as good as any and he had needed it only as an alibi and to keep sane anyway.

 

When he entered the apartment, he got a small fright sensing the tell-tale smell of smoke. Nat again! He ran inside in panic.

 

“What happened?” – He asked worriedly and tried to search for the source. He found it quickly enough in the kitchen:

 

As soon as he entered – ready to do whatever possible to save his new home and the occupants in it and also curse his smoke alarm system that should have activated by the fire – he found Annabel looking absolutely disheveled, her hair sticking up in every direction from vapor and heat, her cheeks flushed and eyes half-angry, half-desperate.

 

Confetti and Pixel were sitting by the counter, looking up at her trying to open the window with one hand and holding an item that looked like the remains of something that might have been a pan in its previous life in the other. A pan that had the totally black and smoking remnants of… maybe pancakes… _in and on_ it. Q could have sworn the two kittens would have had a laughing fit if it had been possible for animals; they certainly looked amused enough.

 

He, of course, – being a gentleman and all – tried to keep a straight face (and mostly also succeeded) as he asked in relief:

 

“Need some help here?”

 

Annabel turned towards him as quickly as whirlwind.

 

“Danny! No! It’s fine! I’m just making… Ahm…”

 

Q stepped closer and peered into the pan she was holding over the sink now to stop it from dripping onto the floor even more.

 

“Let me guess… pancakes?”

 

“Yeah… I think I might have burnt it a little…”

 

Talk about the understatement of the century…

 

“No worries; I like it crusty.” – Teased Q and poked the ashes with a wooden spoon. – “I think the danger’s over; it’s already dead. But better leave the window open for the time being; in case it would want to start a posthumous attack.”

 

“I’m sorry… I wanted to welcome you back home with home-made supper but I guess I am incapable to do anything in the kitchen. No wonder I hate Chemistry: the concept is the same to some extent… My mom always says I’m hopeless.” – She was on the verge of tears and Q couldn’t have that.

 

“Didn’t you bring your own self-made scones to Michael’s party though?”

 

She blushed.

 

“Well, I might have lied just a tiny bit about it… In reality, my mom made them… But I helped! She let me prepare everything that didn’t require the oven. Or the mixer. Or the stove… well, anything to do with electricity and/or fire. As I just said: I am hopeless in the kitchen.” – She finished sadly, clearly expecting Q to be very disappointed with these new findings.

 

“Then we’re perfectly suited to each other. There’s a reason the kitchen supplies are planned to be the very last things I’ll buy for my new apartment; if I’ll do that at all. Actually, I had no idea I used to have a pan.” – He added, indicating at the now ruined utensil.

 

“You didn’t, I bought it today in the city. I am honestly so sorry! I tried to do something nice for you as a thank you gift for everything you’re doing for me and---“

 

“Hey, stop it: the thought is what matters and you’re very much welcome.  You don’t have to thank me. Besides, I don’t really eat in the evenings anymore; I’m content with just tea. If you’re hungry we could order something. They’re usually quick to deliver ever since Mason; one of my colleagues; had to wait an hour once… it was not pretty. Now they always make an effort to treat this address as priority for fear they could be... ahm… doesn’t matter.”

 

“They could be what?”

 

“It’s honestly not important.”

 

“Nah, come on: tell me!”

 

“Murdered in their sleep. That’s what he threatened them with for being late that time.”

 

“Oh! You’re still as funny as ever!” – Oh, if she knew… - “Well, I would have really liked pancakes…”

 

“The Italian place has some, Rodriguez; another colleague; always orders them. Look at the menu, I’ll call the restaurant!”

 

“You have your co-workers over a lot?” – She asked in awe, her attention partially already focused on the menu that indeed offered a wide range of pancakes and crêpes. The restaurant was just around the corner; typically Q had had to travel all the way to Paris to try some of these…

 

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe how often… We’re good friends.” – Shouted Q from the bedroom where he was changing out of his work clothes into something more comfortable. – “They’re usually more trouble than they’re worth but I like them very much anyway.”

 

Only half an hour later they were sitting at the dining table with Annabel happily munching on her French-style crêpes with strawberry jam and Q drinking his much-deserved Earl Grey. There was still the lingering burnt smell but by now they could see more clearly through the smoke than before.

 

“They’re really delicious!”

 

“That’s what my friends say as well.”

 

“Are there a lot of people working in the office with you?” – She asked, honestly interested. – “I know you can’t talk about your actual work, so just tell me if I ask too much. It’s just that I am before my own career choice and I’ve never had a real job before… Handing out flyers for a month during the summer with a bunch of other students for pocket money doesn’t count, I’m afraid… I just don’t know how things are out in the ‘real world’ of work.” – She hurried to assure him she wasn’t trying to pry into his secrets. Not that he had thought she was.

 

He thought about how he could best explain it to her without telling national and international secrets. It was definitely not an easy task.

 

“Yes, it’s a huge organization with several hundred people. Of course, I don’t work with all of them directly together. My department has 20 technicians – that’s three shifts and not counting me – and we are there to provide technical support for nine people for their own line of work.”

 

“So, there’s most of the time only the 21 of you in the actual office, who all belong to your department?”

 

“No, we work in shifts so usually there’s not everyone present at the same time. It’s a bit more complicated than a ‘simple’ two- or three shift system you might have heard about in department stores for example but you get the idea. There are peak times when we need more people in and down times when there’s only a so-called ‘skeleton crew’ needed to oversee things. And the leader or the second in command must be present for certain tasks the whole time, however long it may take.”

 

“That must be very tiring for them; imagine when it takes days to finish the task. They can’t go home until then?”

 

“I think I can imagine it: I am the leader of the department. And yes, it has happened countless times that I had to spend two-three days straight in there. That comes with the job and I never had a problem with it. I have an own office with a fairly comfortable couch and a private bathroom. And I’m allowed to take Confetti and Pixel with me.”

 

“Wow, you’re the leader!? You’re the superior of 20 people?”

 

“Well, this is again something that’s a bit more complicated than that… But I am the superior of these 20 people, yes. And of a few others as well…”

 

“But if that’s your department…”

 

“Yes, but my department is pretty high up in the overall chain of command in the organization. It’s a military institute; quite a difficult system.”

 

“Wow! Incredible! And are there other teenagers our age?”

 

“No, I am the youngest.” – He purposely neglected to mention just by how far he was the youngest.

 

“The youngest and a leader of 20 ‘and a few other’ people!? Like I said: incredible!”

 

Q blushed. He would never get used to accepting praises, he thought. So, he tried to subtly change the topic.

 

“And have you talked to your parents about what you would like to study after graduation? I know they wanted you to become a doctor or a lawyer, but you said you didn’t think any of these professions would really fit you. And you didn’t want to travel around the world for a whole year like your sister suggested either.”

 

Annabel smiled.

 

“You really don’t forget anything, do you? It was ages ago that we were talking about that.” – At Q’s laugh she continued. – “Well, I thought I’d like to study psychology or sociology. My parents support whatever I choose if I really mean it and want to do it. They just don’t want me to idle around without real purpose. So, these are the faculties I’d like to concentrate on tomorrow when I visit the university.”

 

“These are great ideas! I did sociology, it’s very interesting. It was on Harvard though, so I don’t know much about Oxford. I’m sure you’ll learn about it tomorrow.”

 

“You have a university degree?”

 

“Oh, well…” – He originally hadn’t wanted to talk about that. – “I have several but that’s not important now.”

 

“Not important? ‘Several’? How many?”

 

“I… don’t know… twelve? Maybe? Oh, no, I think thirteen… Whatever. They’re from a lot of universities and were all distant- and correspondence courses. So I won’t be able to help you with university life and collage I’m afraid.”

 

“Oh my God. Did you study something on Oxford?”

 

“Yeah: Math, Physics and Computer Sciences.”

 

“I just can’t believe you. High school with us must have been really very boring for you.”

 

“I’d rather say: foreign. I’d never been in any place like it before. It was certainly a very unique experience. But I’m glad I had the opportunity to get to know at least to some level how that works.”

 

“I have to admit: you looked very strange among us! Poor teachers surely didn’t have an idea what to do with you.”

 

“Really? And here I thought I was the example for the perfectly average teenager and the model student every teacher ever wished to have!”

 

They both laughed and Annabel finished her pancakes.

 

“I could make some sandwiches for tomorrow.” – She offered with half-hearted enthusiasm.

 

Q tried not to react too panicky.

 

“Or we could just stop somewhere on the way to Oxford…?” – He suggested instead. At her hurt expression he quickly added: – “I mean, there are many small restaurants that offer all kinds of food and then we coul---“

 

“It’s okay, I’m just teasing you! – Laughed the girl. – “I don’t think I should touch anything in the kitchen anymore.”

 

Q couldn’t entirely hide his relief at that. He really didn’t wish to lose his new apartment to fire so soon. He was just starting to feel at ease here and the kittens liked it as well. It would be a pity to have to move again.

 

They said good night to each other and everyone went to turn in for the night – to their respective rooms, thank you very much! Even Q wasn’t brave enough to risk missing an eventual call from Sherlock again.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

As previously agreed, they got up very early and at 6 AM they were already sitting in the car. (It was a different one from two days ago, this time 009’s, and Annabel had been totally amazed, asking: ‘Just how many sports cars do you own?’)

 

They found a nice small restaurant to have breakfast (in Annabel’s case a croissant, a muffin and orange juice, in Q’s case an enormous mugful of Earl Grey) in, and then continued on the road towards Oxford.

 

“Are you one of the people who claim they solely need to ‘eat’ sunlight?” – She asked finally, unable to contain her curiosity anymore. Q had noticed her wanting to question him for a few miles already about something but had decided to let her do it when she would be ready to voice it. But honestly, he certainly hadn’t been expecting _this_.

 

“What?” – He asked totally confused, glancing towards her, not having any idea what she might have been referring to.

 

“You know! Those lunatics; sorry, unless you’re one of them… because then it’s all right… well, those people who say they don’t need actual food, like: ever, because the sunlight contains enough nutrition for them. I believe they’re called ‘sun eaters’ or something like that.”

 

“I don’t know about that but I’m sure nobody who lives in England would do something as stupid as to try to eat the mostly non-existent sunlight… No, I’m not one of them, I can assure you.” – Where did the girl get these ideas from anyway?

 

“Oh. Okay. I’m glad. So what are you going to do today? You said you’re free.”

 

“Yes, I am. I need to visit a few friends. It’s quite urgent; I’ve been neglecting them for a while now.” – And also Sherlock would personally kill him slowly and painfully if he postponed this duty any longer; but that was not something he could tell her of course.

 

Having said it, he parked the car near the entrance of the university, and both stepped out into the early morning’s fresh air, stretching their limbs and drawing their coats more tightly around themselves. It was quite cold. Q fished a map of the campus he had downloaded from the internet the night before out of his pocket and handed it to her.

 

“Oh, Danny, you really think of everything!”

 

“It’s nothing.” – He protested, blushing.

 

They agreed he would come back for her in the late afternoon and said goodbye. He turned around to drive back to London, already planning in his head the schedule for the day’s visits.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

His first stop was the Scotland Yard where he hoped to find DI Lestrade. He seemed to be in luck: the detective inspector was sitting in his office, bent over an official looking paper with an irritated frown. He only looked up when Q knocked on the jamb of his partially open door to get his attention.

 

“Benedict! It’s good to see you, boy! Come on in, please.”

 

“I didn’t want to disturb you, Mr. Lestrade.”

 

“It’s Greg! I hope at least _you’ll_ be able to remember it! And you’re not disturbing. I just needed the perfect excuse to stop for a bit. My head has started to hurt around half an hour ago because of this mess.” – He informed the boy, gesturing helplessly towards the quickly abandoned file.

 

“Oh. And how are you, Greg? I mean, aside from having a headache right now.” – He asked, taking a seat in front of the man’s desk, trying not to feel too uncomfortable in the presence of the man who meant so much for Sherlock. (Though his brother would never ever admit it of course.)

 

“I’m… fine. And you?”

 

“I’m fine as well. And how is work?” – He pressed, fishing for information he could later give to Sherlock that would; hopefully; shut him up for at least a few days about his worry over his friends. A worry he would never admit to having either.

 

“It’s… not nearly as exciting as it used to be with your brother here… Sherlock… he… Oh, God. I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be talking about him… You lost him… I’m sorry.” – He looked infinitely sad and somehow older than his years.

 

“No, it’s okay. I’m not going to break just because you say his name, Greg. As a matter of fact: I’ve always wanted to talk to someone about him who knew a different side than I.”

 

“Maybe John would be better for telling you stories than me…”

 

“No, he wouldn’t be better. Just different. I’d like to hear your stories; if you’d like to tell me, that is.”

 

“But what I did! Oh, God!” – Now he had unshed tears glistering in his eyes. – “I don’t even have the right to miss him.”

 

“You didn’t do anything. Stop blaming yourself.”

 

“I wanted to arrest him! I didn’t believe in him! I betrayed him.”

 

“No, you didn’t betray him! And you really think he was bothered about the arrest and all? You know very well what he was like: it was a challenge for him, nothing more or less.”

 

Greg shook his head, forcing a smile.

 

“Well, at least I’m not as bad as Anderson. He has turned totally mad with guilt. He’s trying to make everyone believe your brother is still alive and out there somewhere. He has the wildest theories. You should hear them. Or maybe you shouldn’t… I don’t know. It must be very hard on you.”

 

“I’m fine. I’ll talk to him. Is he here?”

 

“For now. He’s going to lose his job if he continues like that though. Oh, well. Have you read John’s story on the blog about the time the three of us met by chance in Baskerville?”

 

“No, I haven’t!” – Admittedly, he was not up-to-date with the blog, he usually didn’t have time to read it at all.

 

“You absolutely have to hear it then! So it was my vacation…”

 

By the end of the story both were laughing hard and holding their sides in pain.

 

“Trust me not to be able to escape those two menaces even when I travel!”

 

“It’s so very typical. Nobody can escape from Sherlock. Believe me: I tried just like you and the same happened to me!” – Q had a hard time speaking between the laughter, remembering the one time he had thought he could take a short vacation and go away for the weekend to just relax. Sherlock had had other ideas though.

 

“Yes, yes, I think I remember that. I had to go and help the both of you out in the end. But it was fine. Most of the time it was him helping me. What I wouldn’t give to have his help with this.” – He sighed, indicating solemnly towards the abandoned document on his table. – “I just can’t seem to figure it out to save my life.”

 

“May I see it?”

 

Greg just shrugged and Q took it as a yes, so he pulled the paper towards himself and started to read through the report. After a few minutes he stated with total conviction:

 

“It’s the vicar. No doubt about it.”

 

“What? But he has a cast-iron alibi!”

 

“And it’s false. The maid is backing him up for some reason: I suspect she’s in on the crime herself. Or at least knows about it. Oh, and she’s not just a maid but his lover as well.”

 

“Are you absolutely certain? I mean, several people swore he was a totally lonely widow, not even able to look at women since his beloved wife’s death a decade ago.”

 

“Yes, I am entirely sure. Just look at these pictures of the crime scene first then read the report about the first time he was questioned. It’s clear as day. A mourning widow… yeah… of course. And you have all the evidence; you just have to _see_ them.”

 

“Jesus, now you sounded creepily like your brother.”

 

“I’ll try hard to take that as a compliment rather than an offense.”

 

“It was supposed to be a compliment. Wow. I never knew you had this ability as well.”

 

“I’m nothing compared to Myc and Sher but I have my moments.”

 

“I still say it’s pretty impressive.”

 

“Well, it would only have taken half the time for Sherlock.” – He said modestly.

 

“You solved it in less than five minutes!”

 

“For him it would have been less than two.”

 

In the end, after having said goodbye to Greg, he had also managed to convince Anderson to stop this ‘I believe in Sherlock Holmes’ nonsense and concentrate on his life and work instead by promising to give him interesting information about his brother’s death when the time would be right. He didn’t intend to keep this promise of course and he also hated lying but sometimes it was just necessary.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Next, he walked into St. Bart’s Hospital to meet Miss Hooper who worked as a pathologist there.

 

She was examining a body when Q approached her and announced his presence by clearing his throat so as not to scare her.

 

“Oh! I didn’t realize anyone was here beside me and her!” – She exclaimed; a bit startled despite his efforts to prevent it.

 

“Her?” – He asked, looking around, searching for the mysterious woman he couldn’t see.

 

“I mean, _her_. The dead lady.”

 

“Oh… Yeah, I guess, you’re right…” – He had only met Molly Hooper in the cemetery on Sherlock’s funeral and then on the Christmas party and they haven’t talked a lot by either of the occasions but he had always found her somewhat odd. Not necessarily in a bad way, and he also knew she was very much in love with Sherlock, the poor girl. Q just didn’t really know what to make of her. – “So… ahm… I just wanted to see how you were doing and all… We haven’t met since Christmas and I made a promise to Sherlock… I mean, to myself, obviously, but _because of_ Sherlock… to keep track of his closest friends. He would want it, I’m sure of it.” – He finished a bit awkwardly, suddenly very much aware of the fact that Miss Hooper didn’t know him any better than he knew her and she most probably didn’t have any idea why he was here in the first place.

 

“Oh my God, you’re such a sweetie! So very similar and yet so different from _them_.” – Q decided she must have referred to Mycroft and Sherlock with that statement. – “I have actually wished to talk to you as well but after my disastrous behavior at the funeral I just couldn’t bring myself to seek you out.” – She looked embarrassed. – “I know I didn’t make a great first impression with my incoherent babbling and then we didn’t have the opportunity to talk on the Christmas party either, with all the chaos.”

 

That was true. They hadn’t talked there at all, though it had not been because of any chaos. It had been because he had purposely avoided everyone; and she was well aware of that fact, of course. She might have been weird but certainly not stupid.

 

“It’s okay. You were very grief-stricken on the funeral. I understand.”

 

“Would you like some tea? _He_ liked tea very much. I still remember how he took it. He also drank coffee when he was working long hours but he generally preferred tea. And I believe you’re also more a tea-type, aren’t you?”

 

“Actually, that’s absolutely right. I don’t drink coffee at all but tea can come in any form and quantity!”

 

She covered the dead woman (who was by now halfway cut up and quite gross in Q’s opinion – certainly not a ‘lady’) with thin sheets, took off her gloves to be able to wash her hands.

 

“There’s a good buffet upstairs. Come on!” – And she led him up the stairs, into the small kitchenette and towards her favorite table.

 

There were a few doctors in white gowns who greeted Miss Hooper and also a few people who looked to be visitors and a couple of patients wearing bathrobes and slippers. Q looked around feeling a funny kind of dread at the thought of illness and hospitals. He had been presumed dying far too often (exactly twice) in his short life to want to spend his free time in a place like that. But it was not voluntarily now: it was for Sherlock.

 

“Doe--- Did Sherlock come here a lot?” – If she recognized his slip, she didn’t mention it.

 

“Yes. Especially ‘BJ’.”

 

“’BJ’? What’s that mean?”

 

“’Before John’. That’s how we call it here with Mike Stamford; a colleague. Sherlock… he used to be so lonely and lost… I don’t think he had anything better to do than come here all the time. When he and John moved in together to Baker Street it changed. After that he only came when he really needed something. Did you know everyone used to think for a while they were a couple?”

 

“A couple? John and Sherlock?” – He had to cover up a laughing fit and nearly chocked on his tea at the mere idea of Sherlock being a couple with _anyone_. He was Sherlock, for God’s sake! The Virgin!

 

“Yes, it’s silly, I know. John’s obviously straight and was chasing women like mad before meeting Mary. You do know about Mary, right?” – He nodded. – “I don’t know about Sherlock. I don’t think anyone does. Men and women alike are in love with him but he doesn’t even seem to notice… Or care.”

 

Meaning _she_ was in love with him too…

 

“Sherlock considered himself married to his work, Miss Hooper---“

 

“Molly. Please.”

 

“Molly. He was just not interested in any relationship. It’s quite rare but there are people like that.”

 

“I know. It’s just… I used to think that perhaps… Ah, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Anyway, those two were the best friends ever. I had never seen anything like that before them. It was something special. No wonder John nearly lost his mind after his suicide.”

 

“Yes. It must have been very difficult on him. And on you and all of his friends. I’m sorry this had to happen.”

 

“It’s not your fault; you really don’t need to apologize.” – Oh, if she knew… Still, it was comforting to know that at least someone wasn’t blaming him at all. - “I don’t understand why he did what he did but I’m certain he must have felt it was the only way. I’m just very sad he didn’t try to talk to us. I’m not sure he even knew we were his friends.”

 

“Trust me: he knew. More than you’d think. He wasn’t as unfeeling as he liked to pretend to be. Nearly so, admittedly, but not quite.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“I KNOW it.”

 

She seemed to consider it then sighed as if in relief.

 

“I hope it’s true. I really hope so. Well, will you tell me a bit about yourself? It’s incredible he never told me about you! You’re like a miniature Sherlock in looks just skinnier and with green eyes. But I have a feeling you have a very different personality.”

 

“That’s true…”

 

And he told her a bit about himself, carefully avoiding mentioning anything to do with MI6. In turn she had told him about her new boyfriend called Tom (why did everyone have to be called that?) who was ‘nice, friendly and normal’. He knew instantly he’d have to look into him as soon as possible so he tried to gather as much information about the mysterious man as he could without raising her suspicion. The fact that Moriarty was dead didn’t automatically mean he couldn’t wreak havoc from beyond the grave.

 

In the end, he decided he quite liked Molly and he had been wrong in assessing her on first impression. They promised to keep in touch and meet sometimes over a good tea.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Visiting Mrs. Hudson was the most difficult task of all, because it also meant going back to Baker Street. He hadn’t been there since that epic disastrous conversation with Doctor Watson after the funeral.

 

He took a deep breath before knocking. She opened almost immediately.

 

“Oh, the baby-Sherlock! Come on in, boy, come on!” – She hugged him tightly and ushered him inside, into the kitchen. – “You’re so very tiny and thin, a stronger wind is going to knock you over! You’re going to eat. I just made my famous pie---“

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, but I’m really not hungry. I just wanted to see how you are doing and ask if everything is all right with the flat?” – He was still paying for Sherlock’s rent, keeping his things upstairs and that was why he occasionally needed to make sure he didn’t have any missed responsibilities. But he had always asked it on the phone until now… How very inconsiderate of him, thinking about it now. He felt embarrassed.

 

“I am fine and the flat is fine as well. I don’t bother your brother’s belongings you can keep them here as long as you want. I know it must be very hard to throw anything out…”

 

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to do that. They might still be needed. Especially the violin: please, don’t let anything happen to it!”

 

“I won’t, I promise, dear. Do you play too?”

 

“No. I never particularly enjoyed playing music. I just like listening to it. My brothers used to want to make me learn various instruments but I just wasn’t very interested in it. I wanted them to play to me instead.”

 

“What do you like then?”

 

“Computers. They’re my art. Coding, hacking, writing programs… Also: inventing new things.”

 

“Do you ever experiment with body parts or make chemicals explode?”

 

“No. Never.” – That was not entirely true because he had to make fire and explosions in Q-Branch occasionally for testing purposed but that was different. What she had wanted to know was if he had such dangerous hobbies.

 

“It’s funny. You and Sherlock… you could be twins. Just not the same age but twins none the less. Especially if you weren’t so underfed. But you’re a completely different person.” – She observed.

 

“All three of us are different. And I’m also much younger than them. We didn’t grow up together like brothers usually do. They were already adults when I was born.”

 

“I understand. Sherlock was… what? Nearly twenty? When you were born. Right?” – At his nod, she continued. – “If I understand correctly, it was already a difficult time for him and with him. And then your parents died…”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m being too nosy. I just wanted to say I know you must have had a very lonely childhood. And I’m sorry. I’m also sorry you’ve lost your parents and one of your brothers. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must go through right now. And I’m not sure Mycroft is even capable to help you emotionally any… I don’t want to say anything bad about him but he’s not one of the most sensitive people I know.” – That was a huge understatement and both of them knew it.

 

“He’s not a very emotional type, that’s true.” – Q agreed smiling. – “He’s more rational. He’s always been like that. Sherlock as well.”

 

“And you?”

 

“I don’t really know. I think I haven’t figured it out yet.”

 

“You’re always welcome here when you want to talk.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. But you’ll also tell me when _you_ need any help around the flat or with anything else, all right?”

 

“Of course, thank you, my dear boy. There is indeed something… Can you tell me about John? Maybe ask him to come and visit me a bit more often? It’s like I’ve lost both my Baker Street boys instead of just one…”

 

Another task… Well, of course he would make sure John came. He’d drag him kicking and screaming if it became necessary. And in that, Mycroft would help him in the blink of an eye as well, he was sure of it. It was not a widely known fact, but Mycroft respected Mrs. Hudson more than anyone else. That, and he also feared her somewhat.

 

They talked for a bit longer before it was time to drive back to Oxford for Annabel.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Annabel had been very enthusiastic about Oxford and spent the whole evening back at the apartment planning her future studies there, claiming she would give anything to get in to Psychology because ‘They’re the friendliest lot I’ve ever met!’ and ‘The professor was just brilliant!’, as well as other similar reasons. Unfortunately, Q didn’t think any of them could be considered valid enough to get her into the university when the time for application would come.

 

“What do you think I should wear for the first day? I’ll have to make a good impression!” – She asked, rousing Q from his thought. She was drawing up a timetable for her first semester, trying to fit in as much courses as possible.

 

“Ahm… I’m sorry but I really have no idea about clothes… But I’m sure you can only make a good impression regardless of what you’re wearing.” – Stammered the teenager and tried to think of a way to gently remind her about the numerous obstacles she’d have to overcome before she’d need to worry about choosing her outfit. Namely to graduate high school with flying results and actually get accepted to Oxford; just to name the most important ones.

 

“Did you know they’ve got _clubs_ there?” – She continued, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. – “Even secret ones! Of course they’re not really secret since even I, as a mere _guest_ , heard rumors about them but they’re still pretty hard to get in. Do you think I’d manage?”

 

“No, I didn’t know because I only ever took correspondence courses and yes, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have you in their ranks.”

 

“Oh, you’re so sweet! You’ll come and visit me there, right?”

 

“You can bet I will. But listen, Annabel, please, tell me you also learned something about the competition by admission and the entrance requirements you’ll have to fulfil to have a chance? Did you learn about the system? From what I could gather, it’s fairly complicated. There are more collages, academic communities with tutorials and---“

 

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll study hard to get in.”

 

“Oooookay…” – To be absolutely honest, Q was not entirely certain Annabel really had an idea what she was preparing to do but well… she’d have to find out for herself. He was not about to ruin her dreams by pointing out that she seemed a bit naive right now. But then he had an idea. And a brilliant one at that. – “You know what? One of my good friends is a psychologist. Her name’s Madeleine. She’s from France but has worked for us for a while. I’m sure she must know the system by now and I think she’d be glad to talk with you about this profession.”

 

“Really? Oh, that would be fantastic! When could I talk to her?”

 

“I’ll try to ask her now so that maybe you can meet while you’re still here.”

 

“Super! May I call my family to tell them?”

 

“Of course. Here’s a number you can use.” – He scribbled it down onto a piece of paper, gave it to her then went into his own bedroom to make the promised call and particularly _beg_ Madeleine to help him make Annabel see things a bit more realistically, thus give her a chance at actually making her dream come true and not ruin it with childish dreaming.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Madeleine had agreed right away, glad to be able to help someone who was really enthusiastic about becoming a psychologist. She met Annabel the next day in a café and they talked things through over breakfast. Then they went to the library together to look for books that might help her prepare. They then went into a restaurant to have dinner and talked some more.

 

It took them literally the whole day (during which Q had had to cover for her in MI6 in very creative ways…), but by the time they had finished, Annabel looked more determined than ever and also had a lot more mature approach to the subject. Madeleine was a real miracle worker.

 

“I’ve been an idiot. No, really!” – The girl emphasized in the evening at the apartment, seeing him shake his head at her blunt statement. – “I didn’t even realize how hard it would be. How much work. I was thinking about clothes, for God’s sake! I’ll need to concentrate on becoming much better in high school, to graduate flawlessly and in the meantime also learn as much as I can about the university and my chosen subject. It won’t be easy.”

 

“No, it certainly won’t. But you’ll do fine.”

 

“Do you think so?”

 

“I know for a fact.” – And he did.

 

He quickly sent an SMS to Madeleine to whole-heartedly thank her, to which she immediately replied: _‘That’s the least I could do after what I was like with you initially… Besides, I enjoyed it. I’ll be glad to continue helping her whenever she needs it. She’s lovely. Take care of her! MS’_

 

Trust her to have figured out their relationship, even though he had sworn to her Annabel was only a friend. Luckily, he knew he could count on her not telling anyone about it. Even Bond. Especially Bond. Q wondered for the hundredth time if he’d ever have the same friendship again with the older man they used to have before their infamous argument, during which the agent had mocked him about his fear of flying. That had hurt badly. The man was trying hard ever since to make up for it, no doubt about that, and Q honestly wasn’t angry anymore, but he somehow just saw him in different light now, even though he really didn’t want to feel that way. He hoped it would change one day.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

Annabel spent the next three days in London, went to theater (“Matilda is the _best_ musical _ever_!”), to the Aquarium, and visited all the places she had planned. And also the library. Very often. Q had ended up more than once in the guest bedroom during that time and in the end he couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad about it.

 

(‘Normal teenagers our age have relationships. Why couldn’t I be normal just once in my life!?’)

 

On Sunday, late in the afternoon, Q drove her back to the train station when it was time for them to say goodbye.

 

“So, and here we are again. Saying farewell…” – He began nervously, having just carried her luggage to the waiting train and set it down to be able to hug her. – “It---“

 

“That was the best week of my life! I can’t even begin to tell you how very grateful I am for everything you did for me! I wish I could repay you someday…”

 

“There’s nothing to repay. It was an honor having you here. You’re welcome anytime. I’m sure you’ll be able to do whatever you choose to with that vocation. Just never lose it.”

 

“I won’t. So… we’ll keep in touch this time, right? Please?”

 

“Of course we will. I’ll try to be available more often this time, I promise. Madeleine would kill me if I didn’t! I think she wants you as an apprentice.”

 

They both laughed at the idea even though it was totally true.

 

“I meant what I said on the beginning of my trip, Danny. I want you. All of you. Even your secrets and I don’t care about danger or ‘normal’. I want _you_. I don’t even care if I’ll never learn your real name or what you really do for a living.”

 

“It might change when you meet someone...”

 

“It didn’t change with Tom.” – Oh, that name again…

 

“Well, he was an idiot… Sorry. I mean, there could be someone else…”

 

“There won’t be.”

 

“You know what? If you still won’t have changed your mind about me by the time you’ll get accepted to Oxford and begin your studies there, I won’t try to talk you out of it for your own good anymore.”

 

“Because then you’ll finally believe I’m smart enough to make my own decisions?”

 

“Because then I’ll know for a fact you’re as irremediably crazy as I am.”

 

She laughed then hugged him tightly. She then grabbed her luggage and jumped up onto the train just at the very last minute before the doors were secured and it started rolling slowly first then gradually increasing its speed. From the open window she shouted out to him:

 

“It’s a deal. A few months of e-mails then… And they’ll come frequently, mister, you can consider that a threat!”

 

“I’ll count on it!”

 

And then she had already disappeared into the carriage as the train left the station.

 

Q stood there until he eventually couldn’t see the train anymore then turned around to go back to the car. He’d have to take it back to Vauxhall then report to Sherlock about his conversation with his friends. He’d have to look into Molly’s Tom and kick John all the way to Baker Street to visit Mrs. Hudson. Maybe Mary would help him if he asked nice enough…

 

Yeah. It was back to normal. Well, what was normal for _him_ at any rate.


End file.
